A Good Sense Of Humour Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality
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Written: July 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Quote: "Be full of sorrow, that you may become a hill of joy; weep, that you may break into laughter. The core of the seen and unseen universe smiles, but remember, smiles come best from those who weep." By Rumi
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When dyspnea clutches
akin to a windless room,
and sorrow presses heavily—
not merely on the chest,
but deep within the scaffold of thoughts—
humor, once a fleeting spark,
ignites as flint striking steel,
a miraculous glimmer
emerges amidst the thick fog.
In this existence
pain is not scarce,
but laughter—
a lodestone,
crafted from flapdoodle tales.
and Falstaffian bravado—
serves as a balm,
not just a distraction,
but nepenthe:
a sacred numbness
with edges that still remember.
My life—a palimpsest,
inscribed in soot and raw chances—
finds footnotes in folly,
each chuckle is a testament to courage.
I, the steward of fractured hours,
have traded tears for joy,
and emerged from despair,
not through denial,
but through the iconoclast’s grin—
a fissure in the facade
that adumbrates hope.
Time becomes horology without hands.
When humor wanes—
a sockdolager silence
where even the apiary hums
with mockery
I feel a sense of nostalgia.
I have been that yokel
stone-faced in the storm,
my mirth marooned,
my jokes are stifled—lost in illeism,
I refer to myself.
as if I were no longer mine.
But even scantling joy
can host a grand feast:
a pun, a parody,
a nefarious, mischievous chuckle
at the universe’s absurdity.
Among my peers,
We wear humor akin to armor—
not to conceal,
but to celebrate.
To declare,
we acknowledge the weight,
and we bear it,
with smiles
so sharp, they slice clean,
through gargantuan calamity.
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